


Speakeasy.

by muppetcrayz



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muppetcrayz/pseuds/muppetcrayz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Dave meet in a speakeasy just before the Great Depression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speakeasy.

**Author's Note:**

> like or reblog here: http://whatacutelittlejohn.tumblr.com/post/29348534247/

You met in a speakeasy over a cigarette and a bottle of whiskey.

You fell in love three days later, when he pressed his lips to yours in the corner of the room. You were both a little past drunk, and he kissed you right in the middle of your sentence, “My brother’s kind of, well, a pornog”- (raphist).

God, he felt good.

The relationship grew from haphazard kisses to him staying overnight with you to him sharing your bed four times a week.

Sometimes you wondered if he had a home. More often, you wondered if he loved you. But then he’d drop to his knees and, well, pleasure you with his mouth, or kiss you in the middle of supper, or something else, and that was when you knew that he was really, truly in love with you.

Good thing - you’d never loved any dame as much as you loved John Egbert.

By the third month, you had this idea that he was perfect. Three-letter-man or not, he was goddamn amazing and you loved him like nothing else.

And other times you wondered if you’d ever go back to the world of broads and speakeasies, and then you realized he was your tonic and gin, your jay on a Saturday night.

And he was better, he was the best goddamn drink in New York, the best nookie in the country.

Yes, he was perfect.

There was nothing else to say. Just, “please move in with me, John.”

He just smiled and kissed you again, which you took as a yes. At this point, you guess it could be some kind of ‘you’re taking him in before the worst comes.’

November 15th, 1929. You were still comfortable, still eating, still holding him close when you cried in the middle of the night.

You wonder why he cried. He’d always done it, even before the damned Depression hit. Had something happened to him?

He wouldn’t tell you about life at home. He wouldn’t tell you much at all, until one day he was drunk and stumbled into your arms sobbing.

“W-what’s wrong? Come on, I love you.”

John cries a little harder. “H-he’s gonna HURT me.”

“What? Who?”

“My old man’s gonna beat me up again.”

“I won’t let him.” You hold him close and kiss him over and over. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Maybe it’s not okay?

“I’ll kiss you better.” How did you never notice his dad was hitting him or something?!

And on, and on, carnal desires in the evening, crying in the morning, speakeasies after supper, until the Depression got too bad and you were left frantically kissing so you’d forget about your situation.

You hope he’ll (you’ll) be okay.


End file.
